The Making Of A Knight
by iorwen
Summary: Any Knight Can Make A Knight  Warnings: Spoilers up to and including A Dance With Dragons  Disclaimer: GRRM owns these characters, I'm only borrowing them for a play date


"I love you. I love you. I love you."

Cersei's words darkened Jaime's thoughts as he and Brienne rode away from Pennytree. How did his sister fare? Was she dead or did she pace a cell wondering where her brother was, wondering why he didn't come and save her? He brooded as he sat astride his horse, Honour. He wondered if burning the letter was the right thing to do.

Cersei needed him, of that he was sure, but she betrayed him too and that, Jaime couldn't get past. He told himself it didn't matter; that even if he wanted to, he couldn't save Cersei, not without his sword hand. Yet he didn't have his hand or a sword when he went back for Brienne and faced the Goat's bear.

"Come at once." Cersei had begged.

Was it chivalrous to ignore her? Jaime found himself wondering what Brienne might have done in his place. He looked over to where she rode a little ahead of him. She was quiet, had been since they left on this quest, not saying much about where the Hound was keeping Sansa Stark or how she came upon the information.

_She's a sullen wench_, he thought, but she kept her promises, which is more than most people he knew. He recalled how they argued about honour and the knights' code. He smirked and shook his head softly as he remembered how she made him and Ser Cleos burry the dead they found along their travels.

"I'll leave no innocents to be food for the crows," she stated firmly. She was so resolute, no doubts in her mind as to what was the right thing to do. Jaime could never figure out what was right and what was wrong, not truly.

_So many vows they make you swear_, he thought.

"And you're sure Sansa is with the Hound?" he asked, his breath steaming in the cold night air.

Brienne looked at him briefly before starring ahead and nodding. Jaime furrowed his brow. Something was wrong; the wench was quiet, too quiet, even for her.

"And the Stark girl, she's alive, is she well, unharmed?" he enquired.

"Did Biter chew off your tongue as well as your cheek woman?" he asked when Brienne didn't reply.

"All I know is we need to get there, quickly," she told him before returning to her stony silence.

Jaime sighed; he thought they had moved beyond his jibes and her curt responses. After all, they had been through so much together, they had at least found a grudging respect for one another, hadn't they?

A small shiver went down his spine when he remembered their time with the Brave Companions. His phantom fingers twitched and the agony returned when he thought back to Zollo taking his hand. He looked again at Brienne; it was she who took care of him then, wiping the vomit from his beard when the pain and fever made him sick. It was Brienne who held him when the world began to spin at the Harrenhal baths. She was strong and gentler than he would have thought.

Jaime laughed out loud. _She played the knight, and I the swooning maid._

"Is something funny, Ser?" Brienne spoke as they made their way through the wood.

"Well, since you won't speak to me, I must amuse myself," he answered.

"As you will," she replied and continued onward.

What was eating her? When she appeared to him at the village, Jaime's heart did a little leap. He was happy to see her he had to admit, and even happier to think she may have found Sansa Stark.

_A vow I finally could keep_, he hoped.

He knew if there was any chance for his honour to be bestowed upon him again; it lay with the Maid of Tarth. He looked at the sword that hung at her side. The sword forged from Ned Stark's Ice. It was the last gift his father ever gave him. Jaime knew at once he wasn't worthy of wielding it, at least not then. But if he could see the Wolf girl safe, maybe one day he could wield Oathkeeper and not feel a complete sham.

Jaime remembered how the sword shone cold blue with ripples of red flames down its sharp blade when Brienne took it in her hands for the first time.

_Fire and Ice_, he thought.

He knew it was meant for her. Who else was pure enough? Who else would wield it for good, and good alone?

Brienne stopped just ahead of a clearing.

"We'll make camp here tonight, I'll start a fire."

Jaime nodded and dismounted gathering the bed rolls and the food they brought with them. He looked over at the strong and brave woman as she gathered firewood and kindle.

"You're the one who should wear the title Ser," Jaime suddenly realized.

Brienne looked up from her work; her eyes stared wide at him in the starlight. They were magnificent, those eyes of her.

_Like sapphires_, Jaime thought.

Brienne stood in stillness.

"It's true," Jaime continued, "You know it and I know it."

She shrugged, "You've changed Ser Jaime."

"Perhaps," he paused wistfully before adding, "because of you."

"It was always in you," Brienne said, "I did nothing."

"You were the looking glass," Jaime said as a cleansing rain began to fall softly.

"You made me see what I was, and who I should be. The person I wanted to be all those years ago when I fist joined the Kingsguard," he smiled, "I wanted to be Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning."

"You still can be," Brienne told him.

Jaime laughed, "I think my time has passed, but you…"

Brienne looked hard at him, she couldn't stand it. Couldn't stand to have his green eyes on her and hear him speak these words to her. Not after what she had done, what she was about to do. He didn't know, Jaime didn't know.

"No," she interrupted, uttering the word barely above a whisper but he had heard her.

"Yes," Jaime answered. He reached for her but she moved away, pretending to be busy looking for more wood.

She turned her back on him so she wouldn't have to see his face when she suddenly heard it. The sweet sound that was music to a knight's ears. The sound of steel scraping against wood and leather as it was being drawn from its scabbard.

"Brienne of Tarth," Jaime said aloud.

She whipped around to see his sword in hand.

"Kneel please," Jaime Lannister, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, ordered.

Her mouth fell open as her eyes grew large in disbelief and wonderment.

"Don't stand there gaping at me, it hardly becomes you," he stated in his old familiar derision.

"But," was all Brienne managed to say.

"It's getting dark, and I'm getting cold, kneel please," he repeated.

"You do want to be a Ser don't you? Or do you prefer I keep calling you wench?"

In the past Brienne would have been sure that Jaime was playing with her, that this was a cruel jape on his part. But that was then, before his hand was lost, before the bear pit and the baths, before he gave her Oathkeeper and before she gave him her vow. Her vow to restore his honour. She swallowed hard as her eyes misted over thinking of it. She was glad for the falling rain as it would hide the tears beginning to fall from her eyes. She took a step closer.

"You can't do this," she whispered more to herself than to Jaime.

"Any knight can make a knight," he explained.

"On your knees Brienne," Jaime said with only a small amount of lasciviousness to his tone.

Brienne did as he asked, almost falling to the ground as her limbs trembled and gave way beneath her. She felt herself sinking into the soft, wet grass, her head bent down waiting for the steel to fall softly on her shoulder.

This is what she dreamt of for so long. This is the only thing she ever wanted, to be Jaime's equal.

"Brienne of Tarth," Jaime began as he raised his sword over her, its steel glimmering in the moonlight. Jaime began to lower the blade.

Brienne screamed a word.


End file.
